Bryce’s nostrils flared and his eyes flashed. “I knew this was a mistake. David! Get in here and escort these two out—”
“Will ye listen to me for once if yer life!” Niall growled. Dear Lord, why was it so hard to speak to his own brother? How could two people who had once been so close become such strangers? “Whatever business arrangement he’s talked ye into, it’s a lie. And it’s going to get ye killed.”
“What are ye talking about? We’re setting up a business to export our wool for Flemish textiles. Where is the danger in that?”
Niall clenched his jaw. “That’s what he told ye. But it’s a lie.” He exhaled sharply, trying to keep his temper in check. “Bryce, the coin ye are giving him isnae going towards wool shipments. It’s financing something far more dangerous.”
Bryce narrowed his eyes. “And what exactly is that?”
Niall met his brother’s gaze, his voice low and firm. “An army. He’s using yer money to purchase weapons—to arm a French force that will land on Scottish soil. He and his conspirators mean to put a new king on the throne.”
The tension in the room tightened like a drawn bowstring. Bryce slammed his cup down onto the table, his expression darkening. “That’s a hell of an accusation, Niall.” His hands curled into fists. “Ye expect me to believe ye?”
Charlotte suddenly leaned forward, her voice cutting through the rising anger like steel. “Oh, for God’s sake, wind your neck in and listen! We risked our lives to get this information. MacAllister is planning to use you as a pawn, and if you don’t wake up and see it, you’re going to lose everything.”
Bryce stared at her. Then, slowly leaned back. “Prove it.”
Niall pulled the letters from inside his plaid and laid them on the table. “Charlotte stole these from MacAllister’s study. They were coded, but Joseph and I decoded them. Read them.”
Bryce hesitated, then reached for the topmost letter and Niall’s translation next to it. As his eyes scanned the inked words, his expression shifted—skepticism melting into something harder, something more dangerous.
Silence stretched between them.
Then Bryce muttered, “Bloody hell.”
Niall nodded. “Bloody hell indeed.”
Bryce’s fingers tightened around the letter as he read it again, his jaw clenching. When he finally looked up, his expression was unreadable. He exhaled through his nose, his gaze shifting from the papers to Niall.
“And why,” he said slowly, his voice edged with suspicion, “should I believe any of this? How do I know these aren’t forgeries? That this isnae some elaborate ploy of yers to drag me into whatever mess ye’ve gotten yerself into?”
Niall felt the old sting of his brother’s mistrust, the burden of their past pressing down on him. But he didn’t let it show. He only held Bryce’s gaze, steady and unwavering. He needed Bryce to trust him. And the only way he could think to do that was to tell him the truth. Thewholetruth. He knew it was a risk he might not be able to come back from. But what choice did he have?
He sucked in a deep breath. “Bryce, whatever ye may think of me, I have never lied to ye. I’ve hidden truths, aye, but havenae we all? What I’m going to tell ye now is the truth. Do with it what ye will.”
He met his brother’s eyes. “I know that all of Edinburgh thinks I’m a womanizing rake. It was necessary to allow society to think that so that they would let down their guard. It’s that persona that has allowed me to do my job. Bryce, since father died, I’ve been an agent of the crown.That’swhy I spend so much time in Edinburgh.That’swhy I attend balls and court the nobility. I’ve been tasked with rooting out rebellion and there is no greater hotbed of rebellion than the Edinburgh elite. That is how I knew about what MacAllister is involved in. What he’s trying to dragyeinto.”
Bryce stared at him, unblinking. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I could sit here and argue with ye,” Niall said, his voice quiet but firm. “I could point out all the ways it makes no sense for me to fabricate something like this. But it’s not my words that will convince ye, Bryce.” He leaned forward slightly, meeting his brother’s eyes. “Search yer heart. Ye already ken the truth.”
The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the silence between them.
Bryce held his gaze, his fingers tightening on the parchment. His expression was hard, searching. Then, something shifted in his eyes. A flicker of something old—trust, maybe, buried beneath years of resentment. His grip on the letter slackened.
He let out a slow breath and muttered, “Damn it all.” He tossed the letter onto the table and sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looked up again, there was no more skepticism in his eyes.
“I believe ye,” Bryce said, his voice rough with resignation. “God help me—I believe ye.”
Bryce exhaled sharply, his fingers drumming against the wooden armrest of his seat as he considered everything. Niall watched the tension play out across his brother’s face—the flicker of realization, the weight of betrayal settling onto his shoulders.
Bryce shook his head. “MacAllister played me for a fool.” His words were tight with anger. “And now he means to see me ruined.”
Niall nodded. “Aye. But we can stop him.”
Bryce shot him a sharp look. “How?”
Niall glanced at Charlotte, who was watching them both intently, then turned back to Bryce. “There’s another ball at Lady Murray’s Edinburgh townhouse tomorrow night. That’s where the conspirators will meet.” He tapped the letters they had stolen. “If we move fast, we can get them all arrested before they have a chance to act.”
